


Island of No Return

by Luka



Series: Firestorm [7]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 05:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19100371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: The mystery deepens around the security firm at the ARC and the attack on Lyle.





	Island of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> This is the seventh story in the Firestorm series – this takes place after the Iceman sequence. Thanks to Fredbassett for the loan of Lyle, Ditzy and Joel Stringer (Special Forces OCs). Major Preston and any other OCs are mine.

Lester stared fixedly at the unconscious figure in the bed. "Thank you for calling me," he said finally.

"No problem. I'm not sure why Jon didn't have you as the contact on his mobile …"

"I have no idea. Jon's a law unto himself, as you well know."

Ryan nodded. "Look, I'm going to grab a coffee and talk to the Major. Is there …?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

And Ryan knew when he was being dismissed.

Preston was in the canteen, demolishing a full English breakfast. "Got you one as well. They're keeping it warm for you," he said around a mouthful of sausage.

"Thanks." Ryan rescued the meal, layered on the ketchup and drank half of his mug of tea in one go. It was hot and wet and that was about the best that could be said for it.

Preston waited until Ryan had cleared his plate, and then said: "Right, I want the whole sodding story and I want it now. What the fuck has Lyle got himself into?"

He listened intently as Ryan filled him in on Alan Dawson and the ARC security team, then said: "I remember Dawson. He was one fuck of a waste of space. In fact, I'm sure he was dishonourably discharged."

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Not 100 per cent, but sure enough."

Preston had a memory like an elephant, so Ryan knew there was a strong chance he was right. "In that case, how the hell did his firm get the contract?"

"Have you asked Lester that?"

"No. Not my business. Except …"

"It is now that Lyle's been hurt?"

Ryan shrugged and Preston said briskly: "We're going to have to do some fancy footwork on this. Have you talked to Lester about it at all?"

"No. All I got were cryptic conversations with Lyle. He was keeping quiet about what he was doing until he had some firm proof. And to be honest, it’s hard to know what I can do now …”

Preston frowned. “I need to talk to Lester. Worst fucking thing we can do is go hammering in when it’s nothing to do with us. But if Lyle’s found something, I want to know what it is.”

~*~*~*

Lester looked dreadful. He’d shed his jacket, and his shirt was crumpled and the sleeves pushed up any-old-how. And he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. He wasn’t the sort of person you could usually feel sorry for, but in this instance Ryan had some idea how he must feel. Seeing Lyle’s battered, motionless body made Ryan realise just what Stephen must have gone through.

Dr Dermody was a small, laid-back Dubliner, who’d simply nodded when told that Ryan was Lyle’s next-of-kin. She perched on the battered coffee table in the relatives’ room and regarded him steadily. Preston stood, arms folded, against the door.

“Now Lieutenant Lyle has come round, we can run all the necessary tests. But early indications are good. He knows his name and where he is, but he doesn’t remember anything about the attack.”

“How long’s he likely to be in hospital?” asked Ryan.

“A couple more days, at least. He took a nasty blow to the head and we want to keep an eye on him. And now he’s awake, the police would like to interview him.”

“I’ll liaise with both them and the military police, Dr Dermody,” said Preston in a tone of voice which closed the conversation down on the spot.

~*~*~*

Lyle was drumming his fingers on the table across the bed and giving the bloke opposite the evil eye.

“What’s he done to upset you?” asked Ryan, setting a bottle of diet Coke and a pile of magazines down on the bedside table.

“Fucker farts all night.”

“Now you know what it’s like sharing a tent with you.”

“Fuck off,” said Lyle, opening the Coke and guzzling down a third of it. He belched contentedly.

“You’d better get your story straight. Preston’s in guided missile mode. And when I left them, he and Lester were having a very interesting heart-to-heart.”

Lyle shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, but the wince of pain gave him away. “Can’t help them, seeing as I’ve no idea what happened.”

“I think they’re more interested in what you’d found out before then …”

“Yeah, well … James, Major Preston …”

Preston had his ‘taking no prisoners’ expression on his face as he yanked the curtains around the bed closed. “Right, Lyle, perhaps you’d like to fill us in on this sleuthing you’ve been doing. What do you think you are, Hercule fucking Poirot?”

“No, sir, I just …”

“This really had better be very good, Lieutenant, if I’m to keep the plods and the red caps off your fucking back.”

“Yessir. Thing is, though, I can’t remember a thing about what happened.”

“Never mind that. What have you been sticking your nose into?”

Lyle shrugged. “I’ve been investigating security firms.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking of setting one up myself.”

Preston rolled his eyes. “Spare me that shit, Lyle. You’re in the army for the duration and you know it. So you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Honestly, sir, there’s nothing to tell.”

“So why would someone want to kick your head in? Although having said that, the queue back at Hereford would stretch to sodding Birmingham …”

“I’ve no idea, sir.” Lyle looked mildly affronted.

“What do you know about Alan Dawson?”

“Just that he and his firm have got the contract for the ARC security, and that there are a few discrepancies that I’d be worried about if I was in the Home Office.”

Preston swung round to eyeball Lester. “Perhaps you could throw some light on this, Sir James.”

Lester was watching the proceedings impassively. “I think this is a conversation to be had in private, Major, and not on a hospital ward.”

“Fair enough.”

“But I should warn you …”

“Spare me the Official Secrets Act, Sir James. Once Lyle is discharged from hospital, I shall expect a meeting between the three of us as a matter of urgency.”

“I’ll be in touch, Major.” 

“Good. I’ll wait to hear.”

“Jon, if you want to stay with us for a few days once you’re out …” Ryan could see that the stubborn fucker was hurting beneath the nonchalant pose.

“Cheers, mate …”

“Thank you for the offer, but Jon will stay with me while he recuperates.” Lester’s voice was quiet, but firm.

“James, is that a good idea?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“It’s going to be blindingly obvious what our relationship is if I move in with you.”

“And that’s a problem how?”

“Your career.”

“Why should that be a problem?”

“Your career will go precisely nowhere once it’s common knowledge that you’re shagging a military bit of rough.”

“I think it’s common knowledge already. And the civil service is an equal opportunities employer in these enlightened times. Now, gentlemen, I shall be in contact once Jon is discharged.”

“Well, that put us in our place,” said Preston, summoning the lift with a stab of a meaty forefinger.

“Typical Lester.”

“Typical fucking civil servant. But he’s not fobbing me off with bullshit. I’m going to call in some favours and see what I can find out about our Mr Dawson.”

~*~*~*

“How’s Jon?” Stephen was on the running machine, setting a steady pace.

“Stroppy and irritable.”

“Condition normal, then. When are they letting him out?”

“Couple of days. I did say he could stay here for a few days, but Lester’s going to be soothing his fevered brow.”

Stephen arched an eyebrow. “Bit bloody serious now, isn’t it.”

“Yep. Jon was doing the martyr act and claiming it’d wreck Lester’s career.”

“Bit late to be worrying about that.”

“Which is more or less what Lester said. Ah well, it saves us from having Lyle farting and belching and cooing sweet nothings into his mobile.”

“I could have done without that image.”

Ryan grinned. “How did the training camp go?”

“Fine. Although the wanker they’d got working with us on the riding claims I’d be at home in the opening sequence of the Flashing Blade! I don’t think I’ll be appearing at Goodwood any time soon.”

“Who cares if it’s elegant if it’s getting results?”

“My view exactly. And I always seem to end up with some tiny nag that looks like something out of a bloody Thelwell cartoon!”

“God, that ages you!”

“Cheeky fucker. My schoolfriend Kirsty had a thing about the books.”

“That’s what they all say! So how much longer are you going to be?”

“About ten minutes. And I’d better warn you the fridge is nearly empty, as I didn’t get back until 11pm last night. So shall we go out to eat or get a takeaway?”

“Let’s live dangerously and go out. All I’ve eaten for the last couple of days are curled-up hospital sandwiches and heart attack on a plate cooked breakfasts.”

“Charming! And sounds like you need some exercise as well.” 

Ryan waggled his eyebrows. “I was banking on some acrobatics after I’d bought you dinner.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Romantic to the last. In that case, you can go home and change the sheets. They look like they’ve been on the bed since the old king was on the throne. And I shall expect a decent meal and not the midweek buffet special at the Chinese.”

Ryan tugged his forelock and glanced over to where Karen was waving a pile of paperwork at him. “Let me sign those, then I’ll see you at home in half an hour.”

~*~*~*

_What the fuck’s going on?_

Ryan had to smile. Ditzy was the master of the succinct email. _They’re letting him out in a couple of days. He’s going to Lester’s to recuperate._

_Fuck._

_Yep, that too, I expect._

_Ho bloody ho. And Preston’s stamping round like a bear with a sore head._

_Thought you were on downtime._

_Doesn’t stop him making trouble. He wants us all together to discuss this shit. And that includes you._

_When?_

_Next weekend._

_Make it here. I need to be around in case there’s a problem at the gym._

_OK. I’ll tell the others. See you._

~*~*~*

Stephen opened his eyes. There was a thin shaft of sunlight playing across the bed. He glanced at the clock – it was 9am, late for him not to be up. But then he hadn’t got back from Berlin until 2am as the plane had been delayed. 

The box with his medal in was no longer by the bed and Stephen smiled, knowing that Ryan would have put it on display with the others. He’d been embarrassed when he started winning things and had tucked the medals into a drawer. Ryan had rescued them and put them on a shelf in the living room. Stephen had then stood over Ryan until he salvaged his combat medals which had long been consigned to a shoebox in the back of the wardrobe.

The bedroom door opened and Ryan appeared, balancing a tray. He had a pair of boxer shorts on, and his hair was damp from the shower. God, he was so fucking handsome.

Ryan set the tray down on the bedside table and kissed Stephen. He tasted of toothpaste. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh … Thanks!”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You’d forgotten.”

Stephen nodded, embarrassed. For years when he was alone he’d schooled himself to forget his birthday and other occasions when normal people were happy together. One year he’d got to work and couldn’t understand why the university was locked until he’d remembered it was Christmas Day.

Ryan settled himself comfortably against the headboard and handed Stephen a mug of coffee and a bacon sandwich. “Get these down you.”

“Thanks.” He took a mouthful of the sandwich, licking a trace of ketchup from his fingers. Ryan was watching him and Stephen shivered at the intense gaze. Impulsively, he kissed his fingers and pressed them to Ryan’s lips. 

Ryan’s stern face crinkled into a smile. “Eat first, pressies next, then a fuck if you want it.”

“Do bears pooh in the woods?”

“No idea. I failed biology O Level.”

“Blimey, I’d forgotten you were a fossil! Did you have pen and paper in those days?”

Ryan gave him the finger and polished off the last of his sandwich. Then he reached under the bed and set a pile of presents down in front of Stephen. As usual there were loads, and Stephen felt a lump forming in his throat. So he imprisoned Ryan’s left hand in both of his, kissing the palm and each of the fingers in turn. He was rewarded with one of Ryan’s rare wide smiles, and a large hand stroking through his hair. 

Stephen sat cross-legged and opened the presents. There were books, CDs and DVDs – Ryan always knew exactly what he’d like – a pair of jeans, two shirts and a digital camera. 

“Tom, thanks, all this is just amazing …” Stephen gestured to all the gifts spread out in front of him.

“Pleasure. I thought we could go away next month for a few days. How does Prague sound?”

“Fabulous, but …”

“Good. I’ll book it later in the week then, once I’ve double-checked when Lucy’s due to be away.”

They kissed and Stephen traced his fingers over smooth skin and muscles. He pushed the duvet aside and lay back, playing with his cock.

Ryan reached for the tube of lubricant on the bedside table. He smoothed a handful down his cock, then spent what felt like an age opening Stephen’s hole with one, then two, fingers.

“Stop wriggling!” Ryan leaned over and kissed him.

“Can’t! If you don’t do me soon, I’m going to come.”

“Yeah?” 

Sharp teeth chewed on his nipples and Stephen moaned and thrashed around on the bed. God, he wanted Ryan inside him and stretching him and fucking him slow and deep and making him feel like they were the only people in the world …

It always took Stephen a few moments to adjust to the bulk within him which took his breath away and made him feel like he was being split in two. Ryan remained still, waiting for the pain to turn to acceptance and then to pleasure. They didn’t need words for this any more as they knew every last millimetre and reaction of each other’s body. And the fact that Ryan had been impotent for all those months after the predator attack made what they had now so much more precious.

Stephen spread his legs wide, resting them on Ryan’s shoulders as the thrusts inside him accelerated. And he cried out as Ryan hooked a strong arm around his legs, pressing them together as he rolled him onto his front, causing Stephen’s arse to tighten around his cock, drawing groans from them both. God, it felt too tight, like Ryan was struggling to get inside him.

“Fuck, that’s amazing!” Ryan’s voice was hoarse.

“It hurts, Tom, you’re too big, fuck me hard …” Stephen knew he was moaning as the thick cock drilled into him. God, he needed it hard and fast to make him feel he was alive, to be able to cry out when he had the come fucked out of him by the relentless pounding.

There was a muffled snort from above him. “Make your mind up …”

Stephen cried out again as Ryan, down to the short strokes, imprisoned his waist with his fingers. And he knew by the way Ryan’s body tensed that he was about to come. The hammering his prostate was taking meant he couldn’t hold back himself and he came at virtually the same moment as Ryan pulsed deep inside him.

They lay joined, Ryan nuzzling at the base of Stephen’s neck. Ryan was still semi-hard and Stephen knew that he could expect a second bout pretty soon. So he squeezed his arse muscles, laughing at the hissed curses this produced from the usually super-cool Ryan. And it had the required effect, as the cock started to swell, making Stephen gasp as Ryan rotated his hips.

“Not getting second thoughts, are you?” Ryan nipped at his shoulder.

“No way! Good job I’m not riding ‘til the weekend, though. Go on, I want to come again with your cock inside me. Oh, fuck off!” The phone started to ring within about a foot of Stephen’s right ear.

“Ignore it.”

“It might be the gym. Or bloody Lyle in the shit again.”

Ryan reached out for the phone, still buried balls-deep inside Stephen. “Hello. Oh, hello Max. Yes, he’s here. I’ll pass him over.”

“Hello, Max.” Max was the mover and shaker in the pentathlon world. Stephen wasn’t quite sure how he was going to keep his voice steady.

“Morning, Stephen. Well done on the first place!”

“Thanks. It was a good competition.”

“I’ve just had a word with Jack and he’s delighted with you. I understand he’s entering you for both Stockholm and Moscow?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I’ve had a chap from the Observer Sport Monthly on the phone. They’re doing a series of features on 2012 medal prospects and want someone from modern pentathlon. So I’ve suggested you.”

“Oh. Thank you. Don’t they want some young hopeful, though?”

“They want whoever has the best chance of a medal. And that’s you, Stephen. Now, here’s the phone number. I’ll leave you to sort out the arrangements.”

“Oh, OK.” Stephen scribbled the number on the piece of paper Ryan set in front of him. 

“Let me know how you get on. See you at the weekend, Stephen.”

“Bye, Max.” He handed the phone to Ryan who reached over and put it on the bedside table.

“Everything OK?”

“Yep. He wants me to do some interview for Observer Sport Monthly. Apparently they …” Stephen hesitated and wriggled as Ryan gently moved his hips from side to side.

“They …?”

“Want a 2012 medal hopeful.”

“And Max has suggested you?”

Stephen nodded. His head was spinning from the conversation and from the sensations set up by the now rock-hard cock moving inside him. It felt like he was being skewered to the bed.

“Not surprised. Make the call in a minute. You’ve got some work to do first, though …”

Stephen whimpered as he thrust backwards, feeling the cock buried deep inside him and Ryan’s balls rubbing against his arse.

“Oh, that’s good. So fucking good. You don’t know how amazing your arse looks with my cock filling it,” whispered Ryan. This counted as exceptionally dirty talk for him. “Tell me what it feels like …”

“I’m sore … Full of your cock … You’re stretching me … Won’t sit down later … Want you to come inside me …” Stephen’s head was spinning. He struggled to his knees, head buried in the pillow as he set up a rhythm, bouncing on Ryan’s thick cock. What finished Stephen off was large fingers pinching his nipples, sending him over the edge in an overload of pain and pleasure.

~*~*~*

"Nice place, Ryan," drawled Stringer. "Not financed from pimping your pretty boy, is it?"

Ryan rolled his eyes and gave him the finger. From the other side of the room Stephen suggested in lurid detail what Stringer might like to do to himself. Stringer's public school accent, and laidback to the point of being almost comatose persona got him a lot of stick. But he was a good bloke and had never let the lads down. Even the hard-to-please Ditzy rated him highly.

"Look mate, you don't have to get involved …"

Stringer stretched out languidly on the sofa. "Fuck off, Ryan, I'm in for whatever needs doing."

The council of war was made up of Preston, Stringer, Ditzy and Ryan. Stephen perched on the windowseat. "Need to know basis," said Preston briskly. "Now, I've been doing some homework. Alan Dawson was dishonourably discharged."

“So how the hell did his firm get the ARC job?” asked Ryan. “I can’t believe the Home Office is that desperate when it comes to handing out contracts.”

“Let’s just say that Sir James clammed up on the matter and muttered only about decisions above his head.”

“So he knows something dodgy’s going on?”

“I’d say so.”

“Have you spoken to Lyle?” Ryan hadn’t spoken to him since the lieutenant had been discharged from hospital. A couple of text messages and emails had been suitably cryptic.

“Yes, and I’d wager my pension that Lester’s told him to back off.”

“So what can we do?” asked Ditzy, pragmatic as always.

“Not a thing. I’ve told Lester what I’ve found. The ball’s in his court now.”

~*~*~*

The text message from an unidentified phone arrived at 3am in the morning and woke Ryan up. He stared, momentarily befuddled, at the string of numbers, then realised it was a map grid reference, followed by a date and time.

“What the fuck’s that?” Stephen pulled the pillow over his head.

“I dunno. But it can wait ‘til the sodding morning.” As he was saying it, Ryan was certain he detected Lyle’s hand in it.

~*~*~*

“It’s on the Mendips. Priddy.” Stephen pored over the map, long fingers tracing the exact location of the reference.

“Caving country.” Ryan set a bacon sandwich in front of him and took a mouthful out of his own.

“Lyle thinking he’s bloody James Bond?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you going?”

“Of course.”

“It might be a trap.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Now who’s been watching too much James Bond? Who’d want to trap me?”

Stephen shrugged. “This whole thing stinks. But if you’re going, I’m coming too.”

~*~*~*

“Christalfuckingmighty, are we back in a time warp?” Stephen stared around the pub, which redefined the word basic. There was a roaring fire in the grate and Lyle was at the bar, ordering food. The choice seemed to be cheese and onion roll, ham roll or cauliflower cheese. The latter, when it arrived, was accompanied by what looked like half a loaf of bread.

“Cavers’ pub,” said Ryan.

“So I see. OK, 007, what’s all this in aid of?”

Lyle set pints down in front of them. He looked thin and gaunt. “There was a break-in at James’s flat yesterday morning,” he said without preamble.

“Anything taken?”

“No. They ignored some nice antiques and paintings. But they’d chucked paperwork around. And it was timed very nicely in the one-hour slot after James had gone to work, while I was at the doctor’s and before his housekeeper arrived.”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“And James has had several missives from on high suggesting that he might like to rein me in and that a man’s career could be ruined by the discovery of certain sorts of photographs on computers.”

“Jesus Christ! Lester needs to be out of that shit. Surely he’s got enough contacts to get himself some cushy job?”

“James doesn’t do cushy. He says he’s toughing this one out.”

“Has he any idea what it’s all about?”

“If he has, he isn’t telling me.”

Ryan knew Lyle was hiding something, but also knew it was pointless pushing him.

Lyle quirked at eyebrow at him. “I’m just telling you this, mate, so you can keep your nose clean. James has suggested fairly forcibly that Preston backs off as well. So thanks for all you’ve done, but it’s out of our hands now.”

“What are you going to do?”

Lyle seemed to misunderstand the question purposely. “I’m down here staying with a caving mate for a bit. Going underground, literally. So I’ll see you around.” He picked up his rucksack, shouted a cheery farewell to the landlord, then disappeared into the fog. 

They finished their cauliflower cheese in silence, mopping the sauce up with the hunk of bread. Eventually Stephen said: “Will Preston back off?”

Ryan shrugged. “Depends if the message from Lester came on or off the record. But he’ll tread carefully for a bit.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. You heard the man. This is Lester’s problem.”


End file.
